Unfit for Publication
by Mary le Bow
Summary: As the Dominion War rages, a Cardassian journalist is assigned to Terok Nor. Love him or hate him. He won't care. Chapter Two: To Hell and Back.
1. Chapter 1

_ In a glorious victory for Cardassia, Space Station Terok Nor was wrested from the Federation invaders, and restored to the people of..._

Whatever. The only reason anybody wants this place is the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant, but it's full self-replicating mimes—mines, I mean _mines_! I had a lot to drink last night, all right?

Anyway, the station, the planet, the wormhole, they're newsworthy—on the front line of the war, and so forth. Subscribers to the Cardassian Information Service deserve the best field reporting. But all the best field reporters are dead, so they sent me. Here I am.

This morning I discovered that the walls in my quarters are wafer-thin and my new neighbor is an insomniac Ferengi. That required no investigative journalism on my part; said neighbor woke me from a well-earned rest by ringing the door chime at a hideous hour.

I opened one eye. I'm a cautious man. If the sight of something is about to scar me for life, I can at least keep it monoptic.

Pillow. Blanket. Bed. So far, so good. I sat up, opened both eyes, and looked around. Gray walls, gray carpet, and a port with a view of my least favorite planet ever. At least I didn't sleep alone.

There went the door chime again. I'd have to get that disabled. As soon as I got rid of whoever was making it ring. Which I would do as soon as I located my pants.

Pants on, I went barefoot out of the bedroom, through the windowless, unfurnished living room, and opened the door.

"You're exceptionally loud," I told the dapper little Ferengi who stood fuming in the corridor.

"What a coincidence. I came to tell you the same thing."

I rested my aching head against the cool doorjamb. The pounding dulled very slightly.

"You just got here yesterday," he informed me. "Evidently you make friends quickly."

"I'm told I have a certain inexplicable charm. However, I don't feel charming at the moment. I'm going to dedicate an entire blog to how much I hate you, unless you tell me right now what the hell you want."

The Ferengi said something under his breath. I didn't quite catch it, but it sounded like, "Are any Cardassians _not_ sex addicts?"

Out loud, he said, "My name is Quark. I have eardrums the size of Bajor. You and your very enthusiastic lady-friend made enough noise to keep me awake half the night!"

"I need fish juice," I muttered, turning to the replicator. "Fish juice with a shot of raktagino. And some painkillers. Also a cigarette, Terran tobacco. Menthol."

The replicator spat out a cup of juice with a cigarette sticking out like a swizzle stick. "Oh, for gods' sake!" I said, loudly enough to restart my headache.

The Ferengi had followed me. I held out the cup in accusation. "Federation engineers tinkered with station systems, didn't they?"

He cackled. "You don't know the half of it."

"The Federation wouldn't understand nuance and sublety if they hit them over the head. Computer, try again. I want one cup of fish juice. I want one shot of raktagino _in_ the fish juice. I want two doses of the strongest painkillers you have in memory. I don't want them in the fish juice. I also want one cigarette, and I don't want that in the fish juice either."

My usual breakfast made me feel a little better. "So, Mr. Quark, which noise did you object to in particular?"

"Well..."

Throw an unusual question at them. Every interviewer knows that trick.

"The scream," my neighbor avowed.

"That was my favorite part."

"I could tell." Quark scowled. "Also the moaning."

"Her favorite part."

"For the sake of my ears, maybe you could find a quiet, demure woman-"

"Quiet, demure women activate my gag reflex."

The timing then was theater-perfect. My partner of last night stepped out of the bedroom, showered, dressed, suffering no ill effects of alcohol poisoning, and looking (if I may be so smug) thoroughly satisfied.

She kissed me, purred, "Nice meeting you," and sauntered out the door.

Quark stared after her, slack-jawed. "That-" He pointed at the closed door. "That was a human!"

"So?" I ordered another fish juice.

"You're at war with them, remember?"

"Hello, photographic memory." I tapped my temple, then winced. "Ow, my head. Anyway, she's from a neutral planet. And she's a civilian and so am I. We're free to come and go here."

I could all but see the programs running in his greedy little brain. What could he get from her, from me, and what would it cost him? Therefore, I was suspicious when he asked, "So you'll be seeing her again?"

Not if the other Maquis found out, I wouldn't. I shrugged, poker-faced. Interesting game, poker, but I digress. "Not really my style. We go our separate ways."

"What?" The Ferengi's face was a comic mixture of bewilderment and disgust. "So there's no investment in the relationship? No obligations? No undue influence, no leverage, no networking? _No return on capital?_"

"No."

"Pervert!"


	2. Chapter 2

_With the help of our Dominion Allies, the station is swiftly returning to normal. The lights are on, the flights are on time, and good Cardassian values are in evidence all around._

"Promenade."

Nothing happened.

"Promenade."

Nothing.

"Listen." I spoke directly into the interface panel. "You are the interface for Turbolift Three. I am a passenger. I want you to take me to the Promenade."

"Albanian, Alderbaran, Anatolian-"

"Do you speak Cardassian?"

"Breen, Brithonian, Bywywynnn-"

"Can't you speak Cardassian?"

"Cappadocian, Catalan-"

"You're a Cardassian computer! Why the hell can't you speak Cardassian?" The Federation engineers. Of course. First they screwed up my breakfast, now this. "All right, I get it. You only recognize Federation languages. _Sprechen Sie deutsch_?"

"_Deutsch wird hier gesprochen. Bitte_-"

"_Scheisse_! I don't know how to say Promenade in _deutsch_. How do other Cardassians communicate with you, rude gestures?"

The turbolift was moving. I wondered where I had told it to take me.

There was a certain ham-fisted logic to the Federation speech recognition program. The turbolift let me out directly across from the waste treatment facility.

I'd better get out while I could. Surely I could find a living person with an organic brain, who would understand where I wanted to go.

"_Zum Teufel_!" I yelled at the interface, then leaped out of the lift just in time. The doors whisked shut. I didn't know what alarmed me more, that the computer believed it knew the way to hell, or that it might be right.

Sighing, I tapped on the door of the waste treatment facility.

"Who is it?" The voice seemed to come from some distance inside the room.

"Cardassian Information Service representative. I'd like to speak with a station engineer."

The door opened on yet another Ferengi. This one had a spanner in his left hand and a magnifying loupe over his right eye. It was not a good look.

"Your turbolift." I pointed. "It doesn't understand Cardassian."

"Uh, did you try Ferengi?"

"No, I did not try Ferengi, for the perfectly logical reason that _I don't speak Ferengi_!"

"Well, how did you get here, then?"

"The program recognized the one word I can say in an obscure foreign tongue called German, and ran with it."

"Oh, yeah." He nodded. "It speaks that."

"My point, though, Mr..."

"Rom."

"Rom, is that it's going to be very difficult to get around the station if the turbolifts don't understand a word I say."

"Well, that's true." Another nod, then a long pause. "How long have you been here?"

"Twelve hours. The last two have seemed disproportionately long."

"How have you gotten around until now?"

Good question. I remembered the answer, vaguely. "My friend Nadine talked to it. She speaks some Federation language."

Rom clutched the spanner, hissing. "Nadine? As in, 'O_h, Nadine, YES!'_?" The quote was in a breathless falsetto shriek.

"Whoa," I said, taken aback. "Did I sound like that?"

"More than once. I didn't get a wink of sleep, my wife is on a mission to find out who Nadine is, and she _will _find out, because that's the way she is, and they _will _make comparisons you and I would rather they didn't. As for my impressionable son, it's a good thing he's at Starfleet Academy. He was _probably_ too far away to hear."

Affecting a hurt tone wasn't difficult. "I wish you wouldn't talk about Nadine that way. She's a vivacious and affectionate person, and you're not being very nice to her."

Rom's face fell. "Oh. Sorry."

"Well, that's better."

"What I-what _you_ need is sound-proofing," the engineer said. "That'll give you all the privacy you want."

With an utter lack of expression, I agreed, "That sounds perfect. While you're there installing it, would you take a look at the replicator?"

So I had gotten two of the four items on my list. Now for number three. "About the turbolift-"

Rom scratched his head with the spanner. "Maybe if I take out Anatolian and Cappadocian, that will free up enough memory to put Cardassian back."

And four. "In the meantime, do you mind telling it to take me to the Promenade?"


	3. Chapter 3

_ The Promenade, Terok Nor's main public space, is lively and bustling. Visitors may be spoiled for choice; enjoy a steaming plate of hasperat at the Bajoran cafe, try your luck at dabo in Quark's, or simply relax and watch the colorful life of the station._

I will eat hasperat the day after, having run out of roots, berries, and grubs, I resort to boiling my boots and eating them. And I have doubts about drinking anything poured by a bartender who calls me a pervert.

Still, needs must. I wanted my usual lunch, sushi and kanar. And the only bar on the station belonged to my new neighbor.

He wasn't about to poison me in a public place, after all, and Quark's was quite public at lunchtime. I grabbed the last free barstool. A silent, bald alien sat on my left, a young human male on my right. Both of them were drinking root beer. Disgusting.

Quark's only comment wasn't even addressed to me, but to the dabo girl. "Leeta, this is our new next door neighbor."

"Oo." Leeta leaned on the bar, grinning. "Where's your girlfriend?"

"Have you heard of a ship called-" Nadine was pretty wasted when she told me the name. As a result, the universal translator might not have gotten it exactly right. "-something like 'The Unused Fortress Cleaning Lady'?"

The human gave me a curious look. "You mean _The Newcastle Maid_?"

I shrugged. "I was close."

"It left an hour ago. Won't be back for a month."

"Oh. Well, she's on it."

"Good," Quark muttered.

"Have I missed something?" the human asked, holding his hand out. "I'm Jake Sisko, by the way."

"Any relation to Benjamin Sisko?"

"He's my father."

There was an interview that would give me a career. "I take it you have no interest in following in his footsteps."

"No, I'm a writer."

I'm always pleased to meet someone else as stark raving mad as I. "What do you do for food?"

He laughed. "Journalism."

"Isn't that a coincidence? So do I."

We compared the relative merits of the Cardassian Information Service and the Federation media (he didn't have to deal with government censorship, whereas I actually got paid) until the silent alien drained his glass and left.

Instantly, a Cardassian woman took the vacant spot. No, not Cardassian, mixed race. Bajoran, by the pert, wrinkly nose.

"Don't stare," the human murmured. "Her father will rip your eyeballs out."

"Bit overprotective, is he?"

"I can hear you," the young woman said.

Tora Ziyal. What can I say? Gifted artist, sweet voice, kind face, gentle soul—an hour with her, and I'd be in a diabetic coma. In ten eternal minutes of insipid conversation, she and the human parted with all the useful information about themselves. Time for my escape.

"What a shame your fathers can't get along," I remarked, shaking my head.

"What do you mean?" Ziyal asked.

"It's none of my business, of course, but if it weren't for that slight issue, you two would be perfect for each other. So much in common. A writer, an artist, both lost your mothers so young—that's tragic, by the way; wouldn't it be comforting to talk it over with someone who understands? Well, I've said enough."

I certainly had. A faint blush crept over the girl's cheeks, and she and the human looked at each other like a brand new idea had dropped out of the sky.

"


	4. Chapter 4

_ Kira Nerys, the Bajoran liason to the Cardassian Union, enjoys a challenging role and a productive working relationship with our esteemed Prefect, Gul Dukat._

"What do you want?"

"What I said when I texted you. An interview with the Bajoran liason."

"Uh-huh."

Never was so much disbelief embedded in two syllables.

Whatever suspect act I had committed, Kira Nerys had charged me, tried me, found me guilty, and sentenced me to hear a monologue about the Bajoran government's meanderings, her job description, religious diversity, and what the Jem Hadar didn't eat for breakfast.

"Enough," I interrupted. "You've been talking for five minutes without saying anything. Clearly you don't trust me. Why do you assume I have an ulterior motive?"

"Because all Cardassians do."

"You're onto me," I conceded. "I do have an ulterior motive. There's a particular question I want the answer to."

"That's your ulterior motive? A question?"

"If I go ahead and ask you, then I won't have an ulterior motive anymore, and we can have a civil conversation like adults. Yes?"

She put her head in her hands. "Anything to end this charade. What's your question?"

"Is there any truth to the rumor that you're doing Gul Dukat?"

Words cannot describe the look on that woman's face. "What the f—_No! _No, there isn't!" she spluttered. "_Gul Dukat_? That's disgusting! I'd rather be thrown into the Slime Pits of Klarf! _Gul Dukat_? Blech!"

Oh, yeah. She thought he was hot, all right. I wondered if he knew.

"So," I continued, "now that that's out of the way, what are your thoughts on the Founders?"

Major Kira stood up, quaking with fury. She stabbed her finger at the door. "Out of my office. _Now_!"

"Not as a suggestion, but simply stating a fact," I said, grinning, "if ever you want to do something you'd rather not have overheard, I have a lovely sound-proofed bedroom you and your friends are welcome to use anytime."

Then she grabbed me by the hair and threw me out the door.

And that's why Cardassians love Bajoran women.

_Books could be written about Terok Nor's chief of security, Mr. Odo. Well-known by station personnel, he has a keen sense of justice and a lifelong dedication to law and order. When he chooses __to have eyes, they are the sharpest in the galaxy. Nothing escapes his notice._

Imagine my dismay when I returned to my quarters to find the self-appointed security chief in the living room.

"Had a busy day, have we?" he asked. I detected a slight degree of sarcasm, and responded in kind.

"'We' have, thanks. What are we doing in our private quarters?"

"Merely satisfying my curiosity."

"This must be my personal record," I said, replicating the cigarette I'd been craving for hours. "Usually I'm around for an entire day before somebody calls the police. What have I done?"

"Fortunately for you, the Cardassian legal system has not made annoying people a criminal offense."

"Give them time," I muttered, dropping my bag of groceries on the floor. It wasn't like I had a table.

Odo scowled at the bag as if it had done him an injury. "What's that?"

"Party supplies." For the life of me, I couldn't have told whose side he was on. This could turn ugly. "I've invited some friends over. They should be here about-"

The doorchime sounded. "-now," I concluded, throwing the door open to Jake Sisko, Tora Ziyal, Leeta, Rom, Quark, Morn, and a gaggle of dabo girls still in their work clothes.

I wrapped my arms around two of the girls, giving our security chief my oiliest smile. "Nothing objectionable in that, I hope?"

Jake put on some loud music. Morn showed off his dance moves to the girls who weren't busy running their fingers through my hair and whispering in my ears.

Odo narrowed his fake eyes at me, but all I showed him was a Cardassian acting like a Cardassian.

The door flew open to reveal Major Kira, with an expression like thunder. "What the hell is this?" she demanded, holding a padd in my face. My latest text to her glowed on its screen.

Odo grabbed it. The padd, not my face. He read the text, glowering. "'Want to come over and try out the sound-proofing?'"

I didn't have much time. I shook off the helpful girls, took Kira's arm, and said to Odo, "You really should try being a Cardassian. We have our faults, but you have to admit, we get laid more than any other species on the station."

As I hustled Kira toward my convenient sound-proofed room, Odo hissed, "I'm watching you."

"Pervert!" I retorted, just before locking the door behind Kira and me.

"Do you want to lose a vital organ?!" she yelled.

"Here." I tossed her Nadine's duffel bag.

She caught it instinctively. The components inside rattled. "What's in it?"

"Enough for your friend Mr. Rom to assemble all kinds of contraband equipment. Weapons, communications, the usual counter-insurgent stuff."

Kira rifled through the bag as I packed my own. "Who are you?"

"You've heard of the Maquis?"

She nodded.

"Well, I'm not them. Good luck."

That may have been the only instance of someone else getting the last word with her.

It's always interesting when your contacts don't know they're your contacts.

As for how I left the station, where I ended up, and for that matter, what my name is, feel free to speculate. I'm not telling.


End file.
